


an eternal journey

by ireeene



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender Not Specified, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Smut but not really?, Some Fluff, Some angst, Underage Masturbation, basically just tying in the ends that the game hasn't explored yet, but it's only in one chapter, i'll add more tags as the chapters come along!, some smut, this is basically a telling of asra's life from meeting the mc and forward, written in asra's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireeene/pseuds/ireeene
Summary: From the moment in which Asra had laid eyes on them, with lights bouncing in swirls along their pupils, their smile teasing him, taunting him, with words far too vague to be spoken, he knew his life would never be the same; only, perhaps, he did not know to which extent he was right.
Relationships: Apprentice & Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. 15

**Author's Note:**

> okay so ! this is the first time i'm writing something for the arcana and i'm absolutely in love with Asra so obviously this work concerns him, and how he's lived from the moment he's met the mc.  
> enjoy !

Asra is 15 years old when he first sees them.

It’s a joyous night; lanterns of all shapes and sizes are dangling above his head, the usually disorganized market has been swiftly divided into booths with each merchant proudly chanting praises of their unique products, the sweet smell of fried Pastilla wafts through the air, mingling with the mystic scent of incense erupting from a particular corner shop; a shop which he was not too unfamiliar with.

Hidden in the shadows, it was barely noticeable, but then again, the swirls of dark violet and hints of teal reading “Magic Shop” painted onto a worn sign above the door is what lures the people to it; jaded steps seem to reek of spice and a hint of rose, warming every visitor who stumbled through the fuchsia curtains and into the wondrous little booth in which he had never dared to wander into.

With Muriel behind him, lurking ominously in his shadow, Asra stopped, gleefully turning to announce that this spot would be just right; he was met with no response, even if his taller companion did shoot him a questioning glance, silently asking why he’d chosen to set up a card-reading, mask-selling table at this very spot; for to him, it was evident the citizens of Vesuvia would rather get a reading from the much older, much more experienced witch who resided within that secluded corner.

With an amused glint swirling within lavender eyes, Asra silently beckoned his partner not to worry as he began placing the masks, bidding Muriel a hearty farewell as the latter returned to their shared hut in the woods, not a particular fan of crowds, he often left after aiding the young magician set up, leaving him to deal with the sales even if he’d participated in the craftsmanship; it’s not like they didn’t split the money afterwards.

Pearly curls bounced as the teenage magician slipped on his own mask, the almond shaped eye-holes of his fox mask elongating his already mysterious gaze and urging customers his way with a silent beckoning of his hands; the first was a lady, dressed in robes dyed in colors he had yet to know existed, with jewels of all sorts hanging on her hands and ears; but he could note a singular loop of gold missing from her ring finger, a dead giveaway of her lonesome status within the community.

“A reading, please.”

He knew what she desired to hear, and he knew that if he told her just that, she’d give him that carefully stored pouch of gold coins which rested at her hip, and so, he shuffled the cards once, twice, thrice, before setting out a ring of cards, eventually pulling three to the center and silently urging her to take a look; as he’d predicted, or rather— _planned_ , the chariot reversed, the lovers, the fool.

And so he began; rambling on about how the woman was recklessly showing opposition to the fate they desired so strongly, he explained, through vague words and persuasive riddles that love was right by their side, but it was their restraint to showing freedom and allowing themselves the joy of spontaneity which was wedging itself in front of the prospects of a possible relationship; the woman gazed at him bewildered, perhaps recognizing herself in the words he spoke, before a faint smile broke at her lips and he was gifted with the pouch of gold; violet eyes brightened as he brightly thanked her, watching as a few passers-by gazed at him with keen interest and noting the woman’s happy and fulfilled demeanor.

The success of his first reading only lasted on for the whole of the night, and he watched bemused as the young folks of Vesuvia warily pulled away from the fuchsia curtains of the magic shop to settle by his booth instead, the pouches of gold only seemed to grow more and more as the night went on; warriors and housewives alike were stopping by, lovers and enemies, the rich and the poor, all hoping to hear a fragment of their future through the medium of his skills; and as they settled by the small tent he had set up, they came to praise the careful and intricate craftsmanship of his masks, often purchasing more than one; by the end of the night, he’d gathered well enough to last them for the month, and the table was almost completely devoid of the mask, safe for one.

He’d been readying himself to leave the spot when he heard it, a peculiar little cough, not one of illness, one beckoning his attention rather, and he was quick to turn to meet the eyes of his latest, and hopefully last, customer, only it seemed this person did not wish a reading of any sorts, for they remained silent even as he turned to gaze at them expectantly; he noted the lack of mask hiding their features, rather, they seemed to be smiling, bemused, silently teasing him as their hands rested behind their backs.

“You stole all of my auntie’s customers tonight.” The stranger observed, giggling sheepishly as they looked at his eyes widen in shock; the realization of them being related to the owner of the booth behind him dawning quickly as he lifted a brow, sending them a small teasing smile, full of amusement.

“I suppose so, but I cannot take responsibility for the public’s preference.” He retorted, no ill meaning tainting his tongue, simply the sweetness of silent triumph.

“I guess so, it’s not really cool though, you set up right here,” They paused, gesturing to the spot where his tent was set up minutes prior, “When there’s all the space in the village!” They continued, eyes smiling, still very much amused; “Looks to me like you were trying to steal our customers.”

Golden skin seemed to be tinted in peach as the person facing them correctly pinpointed his intentions, watching him with the very same devious intent that he’d gazed at his customers with.

“I— Uh, that’s not—”

“Anyhow, my aunt’s impressed with you, she says you should stop by tomorrow at noon, she has a proposition for you.” They were quick to speak, eyes glinting with mischief as they move away, stepping on the jade steps of the shop before retracting, eyes lingering on the one mask left on the table; it was of a pale teal color, lined in both gold and silver with thick glittering lashes drawn underneath each eyehole; swiftly, they snatched it from the table, “I’ll take this, it’s only fair after all the customers you’ve taken, no?”

Robbed off his voice, Asra could only nod as he watched them disappear within the shop, lips left parted as he could simply waft in whatever was left of their aura, bask in the little hints of magic that seemed to radiate an energy that his young mind could barely distinguish; a sweet innocence, spontaneity, sweet endeavors and fresh beginnings. Within the distance he could hear the horses, and the loud rattle of a carriage, his gaze lifted to meet the garnet stare of a beautiful woman, before she disappeared into the crowd; Faust slithered along his neck, seemingly just as curious as him.

“ _Who?_ ”

“I wonder…”

Quickly, his eyes cast to the table, staring at the spot which had once occupied the mask and was, he noted the mask which the teenage stranger had taken.

It was that of _the fool_.

The following day, Asra had attended the pinpointed rendezvous, ready to be scolded by the owner of the shop, with their thief of a nibling snickering at him with little to no shame, though it seemed that would not be the case for as he stepped into the confines of the shop, lined with purple and red tapestry, oil lamps hazarded around and a faint smell of herbs and oils lingering around, he felt at sudden ease; the smiling face of the owner quickly came into view, and rather than reprimanding him, the old lady had simply offered him what he’d been long chasing after; a job within the shop, as well as a chance to further perfect his magic; how could he refuse? His eyes briefly fell onto the young magician, who’d slipped from behind a thick curtain, to face him, eyes shaded behind the craftsmanship of a mask he’d created and suddenly, he could only hear himself as the word ‘yes’ spilled from his lips.

Though young teenage Asra would never care to admit it, perhaps their expectant gaze had urged him to accept a tad faster than expected.

The following weeks are a blur; he’s still living with Muriel, but now, their lives are more stable, a weekly pay permits them to eat daily, to indulge in a few expenses they wouldn’t have in the past, and he’s growing stronger, he can feel it; his aura is that of an apprentice now —even if it remains weaker than that of the owner’s nephling— and perhaps he’s getting along with them just fine; they’re a year younger than he is, and he takes it upon himself to tease them about it; in fact, he learns to tease them about everything, and little by little, they grow closer, forming the bond of a true friendship; they tease him and he does them, and they play with potions they shouldn’t mingle with and they knit sweaters for Faust whenever they can; Asra feels it, he’s growing fond of their smile, addicted to their gaze and he can hear their laughter late at night when his eyes close beneath the moonlight; and with every memory comes a swift smile, he likes his life.


	2. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is the second installment ! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !

Asra is 16 when he gives them their first kiss.

It’s summer, and the Vesuvian heat is more than either of them can take; their bodies are both lined in a sheer coat of sweat as they tread through the cave in the forest, the humid air seems to quench their thirst for a cool breeze as they sit on a big lily pad, allowing it to hover along, their legs dipped into the cool water and their backs pressed as they lean against one another, Faust curled up onto both their shoulders and silently sleeping beneath the sunlight.

There’s a strange sense of intimacy in the way they are relaxed against one another, the air around them soothing and cooling; Asra’s cheeks are dusted in both sunlight and a tint of peach, whether it’s from the heat or the intimacy of the situation is yet to be distinguished in his mind; his lips part as he sighs, allowing himself to further relax. Violet eyes close as he breathes in, thoughts left unspoken begin to swarm his head.

Though he had been solemnly denying the tingling in his ribcage every time they slip in to sit next to him, or the slight flutter in his stomach whenever they erupt in their signature fit of laughter as the salamander sparks a fire in one of his books or belongings that he leaves around the small shop, it seemed to become more and more of a difficult task to do so, especially as summer rolled by; and with the days stretching longer and nights shorter, Asra rarely ever left the shop, finding himself almost always with them at his side; as their aunt, or his master, had pointed out, they’d become nothing short of inseparable.

Asra could still recall the spark of attraction bubbling in his ribcage as he’d seen them first, but it eventually died down, turning into nothing but a memory in the confines of his mind, and yet, a few months back, during the harvest festival, it seemed to erupt all over again, and stronger, much stronger than before.

It had been the second week of the year’s second spring, farmers had set out stands to proudly show-off their newest creations and breeds, creative gardeners had displayed some of their finest crafts for purchase, from intricate corsages to playful crowns and bouquets full of unseen crops; Vesuvia seemed to be resplendent as it was overcome with a hue of greenery.

Somehow, Asra had managed to drag Muriel along for the festival, urging him to open up more, have a little more fun, but it seemed the hermit of a man could not be bothered with indulging in festivities, even so, he’d stayed, allowing the young magician to have fun and even joining him on a ride through the canoes; he didn’t mutter a complaint even as they spilled peony petals over their heads, Asra was grateful.

He enjoyed his life as a magician working at the shop, but even then, he could feel a silent ache, a desire, to see them; it was faint, an afterthought almost, beckoning him to go pay a little visit to the young nephling to the shop owner, the very same magician he’d come to learn from and befriend during the past year or so; and yet, he chose to ignore it, for his teenage mind had urged him to believe that these thoughts were but his heart teasing him for he’d finally found a constant in the shop; whether it be a job, a home —though he would never admit it—or a friend.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed as the ride came to an end, and as they were getting off the small, wooden canoe, the ever-so-quickly growing snake he’d come to adore was quick to wind herself along his scarf, a singular petal pressed to her head like a small, tiny hat; her gaze pointed, lips stretched into a tiny and friendly smile, she nudged his chin.

“ _Friend!_ ”

Lifting his head up, he was met with a sight that would confirm his suspicions and knock the denial straight out of his system.

Stood there, in pale yellow robes, with little bangles of gold and silver hanging from the wrist, was the very person he’d spent the past year with, dancing along to the beat of a playing band, the boy at their arms is all chuckles and tinted cheeks, stumbling shyly even as the dance comes to a natural end, and Asra almost scoffs but he refrains, choosing to show that young fellow how much he lacked; turning his head, he noted that Muriel seemed to be by the animal stand at the very corner, avoiding the crowd; faithful that his giant friend would be alright, Asra walked over to the makeshift dance floor that centered the square, swiftly sweeping the magician off their feet before twirling them straight into his arms.

“Asra!” They’d yelped, urging an amused grin to draw itself on his features.

“Yes?” He’d responded, pressing a hand to their waist before playfully twirling them again, watching as what had been an expression of surprise turn into a plain one, with a quirked brow of curiosity.

“If you wanted a dance, you could’ve just asked.” They’d pointed out, to which he shook his head, bringing them closer.

“That would’ve been too mundane.” He pointed out, watching as their own face broke into an amused smile, allowing him to lead them through what would be the first of many dances.

The day had gone by just like that; with them in his arms, Faust hanging pleasantly on either of their shoulders. It had taken a while for Asra to understand why he’d reacted so rashly, not that he regretted it, for it had opened the doors to what had been one of the best days of his life; it was evident, he was growing _enamored_ with the young magician.

“Asra?” Their voice, sweet and small, almost silent, echoed through the cove in which they sat, urging him out of his trance, his eyes opening instinctively; “Hmm?”

“Have you had your first kiss?”

The question bewilders him for a short while, his eyebrows raising curiously before furrowing in thought; his first ever kiss had been Faust, for one faithful morning he’d woken up to see her facing him, her bright ruby eyes gazing at him curiously and he’d simply chuckled, pressing an instinctive kiss to her mouth; the snake seemed to not appreciate it, slithering under the covers with a small grumble and a loud “ _Ew!_ ”

She’d grown more accustomed to kisses as she grew.

With a swift chuckle at the memory, he’d lifted his hand to his head, ruffling snow curls with a small shake of his head, “No, though I suppose I’ve had the semblance of one.”

Curiosity fills eyes he’s come to adore as they turn to gaze at him, sitting on their knees and awaiting him to turn around as they curiously inquire what he means; sheepishly, he tells the tale, urging laughter to slip past their lips and he can only laugh with them, because the ringing of their laughter seems to echo deliciously around them, warming him from head to toe; oh, how he loves the sound.

“You’re a tough gal, aren’t you, Faust?” They ask, and the snake goes to rest onto their leg, happily hissing in agreement.

“ _Tough!_ ”

“How about you?” He questions, eyes daring as he regards them with the very same curiosity they’d sent his way merely moments prior; his eyebrows lifted, lips strained into a lopsided smile as they shied away beneath his gaze, eyes trained downwards and cheeks tinted red as they tried to ignore the question he’d asked; as if he would let that happen.

“ _Snake got your tongue?_ ”

The little question made them huff as they glared at him, squinting childishly before they’d pressed their palm to both his shoulders; he’d been all smiles and quiet giggles, until he felt the weight of their arms pushing him into the pond beneath and his eyes widened, his balance falling slack as he fell into the pond; but not before grasping their hand and dragging them along, watching briefly as Faust expertly slithered away and onto the lily pad.

For a moment, everything seemed to remain still as they fell underwater, the teal hue surrounding them, slivers of sunlight illuminating their way back towards the surface; he’d lifted his head with a resounding gasp, his hair falling slack on his eyes which he quickly brushed back, just in time to see them resurfacing as well, the look on their face absolutely priceless.

“You—!!”

They’d been cut short as laughter bubble from his throat, watching the absolute look of fury overtaking their features; soon enough, they joined along, laughing together in the middle of the pond and playfully splashing each other every once in a while, Faust watching over the both of them with a happy grin; “ _Fun!_ ”

Asra’s lips stretched into a smile as the sun beamed upon the two of them, illuminating the face of the magician facing him as they wore their familiar, beautiful smile, urging a small, exhilarated sigh from between his lips; he could spend a lifetime, no, an _eternity_ — gazing at them, drinking and breathing in the faint, delicate lines of their features, from the bridge of their nose, the small crease between their eyebrows, the brightness of their eyes, to the plump flesh of their lips, just beckoning him to press a sweet kiss against them.

“I’ve never kissed anyone.” They’d confided, watching him with perhaps the same intensity that he was them; and he could simply swallow a thick lump as he felt his heartbeat grow wilder in his ribcage, his feelings swarmed him with the courage to pronounce the words lodged in his throat.

“I could be your first kiss, if you want.”

Perhaps Asra cursed himself as he watched their eyes widen, drinking in his proposal with risen eyebrows, almost silently questioning whether or not he was serious, his eyes were quick to decline; purple orbs shyly lifting to look at the roof of the small cove, preparing himself to come up with the appropriate apology for his rather inappropriate words, only to be silenced as they spoke up.

“O-Okay.”

There was a slight tremble to their voice, he could pick it up, he could even pick up how their heart seemed to change paces, quickening along with his as he approached them, his hand finding theirs underwater before slipping his fingers into their own, watching as a blush begins to form on their cheeks, probably mirroring his own, and slowly, steadily, he allows himself to press a kiss to their lips, eyes closing as he allowed their lips to mold together into a chaste kiss; they moved steadily, innocence and curiosity in their every slight movement, his hand lifted, gripping their cheek as they gently wrapped their arms around his neck, sighing pleasantly against him. He could feel it, as they relaxed into his grip, their respective auras mingling tentatively, matching the nature of the kiss; it did not take long before the chaste kiss, pleasant and sweet, came to an end.

Asra was burning up, inside and out, as he pulled back, allowing his fingers to gently tuck strands of damp hair behind their ear; their eyes remained cast downward, slowly lifting up to meet his, and they were filled with both gratitude, curiosity, and something else, of which he couldn’t discern; slowly, their lips lifted into a warm smile, and Asra, though feeling as though his heart might burst any moment now, smiles back at them, eyes reflecting the feelings which he would not dare speak.

That night, they go back home hand in hand, dripping from head to toe as they step into the shop, and they’re both scolded, for wetting the carpet and also wetting themselves, and as the shop owner goes on about teaching them a drying spell, their hands remain intertwined beneath the table; Asra can only dream about that day so many times before it becomes but a distant memory in his mind.

Somehow, even if he is relentlessly unfocused, the shop owner discovers he has an affinity for water related magic, and they begin training him on it exclusively.


	3. 17

Asra is 17 years old when he begins looking at them quite _differently_.

He’s a young teenager, and he understands that all of his more-than-inappropriate thoughts are but a consequence of his bodily changes, and his curiosity is but a sign of his walking into a path of adulthood, but sometimes, it becomes a tad bit too much for the young magician to handle.

His mind, wondrous, full of questions, is wondering about aspects which have never before slipped into the colorful swirls of his thoughts, his eyes linger a bit too much on the magician with whom he shares most of his time; and it’s the same feeling whenever his eyes fall on them, an overwhelming heat, a pressure unreleased, a tightness in his chest before slowly it envelopes his entirety, urging the most unspeakable scenarios into his usually blank dreams and each day it’s the same, he awakens in cold sweat, feeling as though his heart might explode and his body too, and this feeling can never seem to be quenched.

Books and encyclopedias allow him to correctly pinpoint his suspicions as facts; he’s becoming a young man, waltzing along the steps of adulthood, he no longer is the young, innocent boy he once was for his mind is conjuring the most irrational and obscene of images; and all of them, without an exception, involve the very soul he’d been pining over from the minute they’d beneath his gaze during that one masquerade night.

It’s wrong, he knows so, perhaps better than anyone else, to involve them into the twisted fantasies of his frustrated mind is something he is guilty of, and the throes of that very guilt drowns him whenever their eyes, so full of the same joyous innocence they’d always displayed, but his eyes, hued a deep violet, have changed; he wonders if they can see it, how hunger swirls shamelessly within the confines of his pupils whenever he looks at them for a little too long, whenever his feelings get ahead of him, whenever they, with no intention of doing so, tease him with riddles that tickle his mind and ignite his body.

The growth spurt which had hit them did not aid him in any way, for they seemed to have developed all of the right curves in all of the right places, and their features sharpened as they shed away whatever was left of their infancy, wearing the cloak of adulthood with assurance and sophistication; his heart swells, with both pride and admiration, whenever he watches them sauntering about the shop, leaning onto the glass counter as they await the entry of yet another customer.

Asra is but a young man, nursing a crush, and he reminds himself that the thoughts roaming in his mind are only natural, for he’d been long dreaming to wrap his arms around them and usher them into one of the many acts of romance his mind had often conjured; and he’d successfully refrained, for he was certain, they regarded him not with the same feelings of adoration, of admiration, for their head was very much good on their shoulders, their goals clear and aspirations certain, they could, and would, not baffle themselves with the scruples of a meaningless relationship; especially not at their young age.

He wished he had the same clarity, and once, he did, he had been as assured as they were, though a bit more taunting with reckless actions and vague expressions; he’d expressed of his doubts openly to them one night as they cleaned the shop, dusting away the shelves and refilling the empty pots.

“You’re just freaking out over nothing,” They’d spoken, lips lifted into a careful smile.

“You’re just a little ditzy that’s all, probably just tired, it’s nothing to worry about.” They’d continued and he could only smile as he watched them, walking along the counter before placing jars full of dried lavender and abalone pearls back into place.

“Don’t you ever get tired? I’ve never seen you being ditzy,” He’d taunted, watching as they shot him a knowing gaze with a slithering smile, “That’s cause I dump all of my work on you.”

Their response had ushered a swift chuckle to slip from his lips as he continued sweeping, allowing himself to get carried away with his task until he heard the faint sound of their feet brushing against the carpet, past the table centering the room, and towards him; he paid no mind to it, at least not until small hands brushed past his waist and wrapped securely around his waist, their body pressing into his own as they engulfed him into a hug; his eyes widened, pupils dilating as he could feel their warmth, mingling with his own, their magic slightly pressing into his own, mixing, mingling, just as it had long ago, when they had shared their first kiss.

His heart jolted to a halt, lips parting momentarily as he allowed the reality of their closeness to settle, feeling the bumps settle onto his tanned skin and welcoming the butterflies onto the hollow of his stomach; his breath hitched before falling into an uneven pace, for he found it difficult to breathe, they stood so close, so suddenly, overwhelming him with their warmth, their nearness, their _touch_.

“Don’t strain yourself, Asra,” They’d whispered onto his back, squeezing him, almost carrying his exhaustion with them as they did so, he fumbled with words, unsure of what to say, what to do, how to react, and so, he simply stood still, his lips lifting into a small smile as his eyes closed; his hand, which had been resting onto the broomstick, rested onto their own hands, which were intertwined atop his stomach.

They warmed at the gesture, and his mind cleared for a moment, taking in their closeness, memorizing it, allowing their body heat to warm his heart and fondle with his thoughts, even if he knew these very actions would later become his very nemesis as he would slip into the warmth of his bed, his mind blanketed in memories he would warp for his own pleasure, for his own gain.

How selfish he could be was beyond his understanding.

He sighed, his heart halting as he felt them press if a small kiss to his neck; it was barely there, and had he not been so alert, he wouldn’t have felt the fleeting press of their affection to the juncture of his neck; “You can go rest, we’ll finish tomorrow.”

He could have sworn, as they whispered the words into his ear, that their voice had been edged with the alluring tones of seduction. Thoughts slipped past his mind, ones along the lines of that their body, pressed against his own, was not out of comfort but out of promiscuous intent; and their finger, which seemed to be drawing nameless shapes onto his back, was leaving a trail of their own lust on him, imprinting him with their own unspoken desires; it had him thinking that perhaps, he was not the only one struggling with unspeakable fantasies and lustful desires.

They’d pulled away, storing away the broom and cloth before slipping Faust into their arms as they spoke that she would be better off on a real bed, rather than hanging along the armchair of the couch; and he disagrees with a careful whine, though it seems his sneaky snake has already made her choice for she is happily hanging off his magician’s neck as they disappear up the stairs, happily bidding him goodnight.

And Gods, he knows he shouldn’t, but the sweetness of their voice does something to him, the light sway of their hips as they trail up the stairs is pressed onto his brain with agonizing precision, and the memories of their previous actions return; their breath along his neck, their hands on his chest, their finger, slowly, teasingly tracing magnificent swirls onto his back, and simply their presence, their aura, meshing along his own; all make his heart beat louder in his chest and he cannot seem to settle his thoughts.

Frustrated, he forces himself to sleep.

Only, the forcible sleep only lasts so long, his thoughts remaining free of his magician for only so long; his dreams are satiated with them, and even within the depths of an inconsistent universe, where dunes of sand are all he feels and the sky is a divine shade of purple, Asra’s heart still spasms as they fall beneath his eyes; their head peeking from the surface of a pond of water, shaded from the fuchsia hue of the sun by an array of palm trees.

They turn, eyes meeting his own, and they look just as he remembers them, yet different; so divinely different, it’s the glint in their eyes, he thinks, it’s the swell of their lips, the tint on their cheeks, they look the same, yet all different, awaiting him with a careful gaze and beckoning him with whispers that he can only faintly make out as his mind tingles in the sweetness of a lustful fog.

He joins them in a second, stripping himself off of clothes that feel too heavy on his body, and of a shame that he wore all too tightly; they welcome him with a sweet kiss, a romantic kiss, for even as they blatantly offer themselves to him, Asra is far too enamored to do anything, too shy, his mind full of sweet romantic tales and his gestures that of a Saharan prince; his hands finds their waist, settling onto their skin as the water surrounding them warms, and the kiss tying them together grows needier, messier; suddenly, beyond his comprehension, their hands are everywhere on his body, and his on theirs, and they are by the shore ever so suddenly, a wave overtaking them both as they become one beneath a pink sky; his lips tremble as he awakens with a jolt.

He’s thirsty, painfully so, his lips dry from the heat of his own wishes and desires, from the very thoughts his mind courageously conjured onto the dead of the night; he sits up so quickly, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as he thinks back to a dream he knows he shan’t forget, before standing up, choosing to get himself a drink of water which he terribly needed.

He stands still, leaning onto the counter as he takes momentary sips from his cup of water, eyes settled onto the window as his lips tremble, his mind seemingly unable to push away the reckless imagery in which his thoughts had ventured into, his eyes are hazy as he recalls every little moment, his throat tightening and releasing as he wonders if his dreams were to ever become reality.

Bravely, he sets the cup beside him, mind in a daze, recalling that vivid dream yet again as he lifted his shirt for a brief moment, fingers skillfully undoing the laces on his trousers before slipping in, grasping the painfully hard flesh of his cock with an expertise he’d mastered; how many times had he awoken in such a state, with his lips dry and his eyes full of lust, his mind unable to think of anything but them, _his magician_.

His surroundings blur for a moment, and all he can see are the swirls of teal and fuchsia from the oasis his mind had pulled him into, and his heart is beating loud, only growing louder as he swiftly pumps himself, thumb resting at his tip, skillfully spreading the precum leaking onto his length, and his chest tightens, back arching if only slightly as a sigh leaves his plump lips, before bright pearls bite down onto the frail flesh.

Silently, he wonders, what it would be like, to touch them, to feel them, to kiss them—–

Oh how he wishes to see them, unravel beneath his every touch, lips parted deliciously as he drives into them slowly, steadily, his lips would grace them with the treasure of a million kisses, worshipping their every feature; how he would love them, so sweetly, so desperately, conveying the meaning of a thousand words into gentle caresses and sweet nothings of adoration.

Perhaps, they would beckon him for more, pleading into his ears, whispering against his lips, for him to take them, to fuck them, harder and harder, to please them; they would be at his very mercy, and he would tease them, never quite complying until their eyes would look into his own, silently begging him, their back arching into him and he would ease their pain, firmly pushing into them, watching them as they unraveled beneath the warmth of his adoring gaze.

Oh, his magician knew not of how they affected him.

A small whimper left his lips as his thoughts got ahead of him; and yet, he seemed not to be able to reach that familiar edge, and suddenly, his mind is trailing back to the dream which had him here to begin with, to the seductive glint in his lover’s eyes, to the precious, teasing smile playing at his lips; resting on the sand, they topple over him with a childish chuckle, a sweet giggle, one that beats the melodious chants of musicians in the ears of the young magician, and he finds himself biting hard onto the plush flesh of his lip as his mind continues to create images that would silence his seemingly limitless hunger.

Their lips meet his in a frenzied kiss and a moan slips past his lips, echoing into the kitchen as he quickens the pace of his once delicate motions, now pumping his dick with a hunger that has long resided within him; his lips part wider as his head falls back, the image of their eyes, playful and knowing, come into his mind as they slowly, steadily, lean downwards, stopping to lay on their knees, their eyes wandering to his hardened cock but they, with both curiosity and a tinge of lust, wrap their lips along the thickness of his length; the image alone is enough to have him near the edge.

They look at him with that knowing glint he adores, pushing him entirely into their mouth all while they look at him and he’s certain, he’s losing it. His mind is rushing, his heart is pacing at an inhuman speed, and he can barely last a minute longer before he releases into the warmth of his palm, his head falling back as a loud, far too loud to be concealed, moan slips past his lips and echoes within the empty kitchen.

He is barely aware of it as the sound of steps reasons in his ears, and he quickly tightens his trouser again, his hand still very much warm and sticky with the residue of his own essence pressed against it, the sweat on his forehead prominent as they step into the kitchen, their eyes full of worry and concern; they look at him lovingly, caringly, and he feels guilty, for he’s pulling them into the sinfulness of his own selfish endeavors; them, his magician, so blissfully sweet and innocent.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard something weird in here,” They question, concern tainting their eyes and they are oh so sweet, and Asra can only cast his eyes downwards in shame as he fumbles to answer them.

Suddenly, they are at his side, gripping at his _hand_ and looking at him so sweetly and he’s forced to look at them, eyes wide in shock as they lift their other hand to rest on his cheek, and he can simply stutter even more before finally finding the will to speak.

“I’m alright,” He finally manages, and they grin at him, taking _both_ his hands before planting a kiss onto his open palms, and he can only feel the heat rising in his body, tainting his cheeks with a bright red hue.

“Good.” They finalize, something sly in their eyes as they gaze straight to him, smiling knowingly before they take hold of their candle yet again, readying themselves to leave; “Asra,” They begin, their back to him as he gazes at them from across the room, eyebrows arched in curiosity.

“Yes?” He inquires, watching as they skillfully turn their head to gaze at him, tongue slipping from between their lips to delicately lick away at his very essence; his eyes widened even more, if possible, body jolting with yet another surge of lust.

“You should ask Auntie for some sort of sleeping potion, no wonder you’re so tired, you’re getting up every night,” They speak, and his breath hitches as he nods quickly, “You’re right.”

“Also, don’t be so _loud_ next time _if you don’t want to be caught_.” His eyes almost bulge out of his head as he watches them saunter away with a confidence he’s always adored, a playful edge to their movements.

That night, Asra stays awake, concocting his own sleep potion in hopes that he won’t have to live through that embarrassment ever again.


	4. 18 & ½

Asra is 18 and a half years old when the owner of the shop passes on.

The spell she’d wished to accomplish had been too strong, took too much of a toll on their limbs, and the final straw had been the humongous explosion to which both he and their nephling had walked into as they returned from running an errand across the city; they’re quick to her side, eyes full of worry as they question what happened, and she gives them no words, only her familiar toothless smile before her soul slips away, they can both feel it, wandering through the shop before escaping, leaving them with the resonating sound of her laughter and the deadness of her opened eyes; with his hand on theirs, Asra closes their aunt’s eyes and lifts violet eyes to gaze at them, despair and ache flood their expression, but they smile at the sweet gesture nonetheless.

The funeral is quaint; at the shore, a few villagers have come by, one of them is Selasi, who comes bearing two loaves hidden in parchment and offers them, sheepishly claiming that it’s a new recipe he’s created, and how he hopes it will provide the two of them with the comfort they need; Asra watches as they smile and take the loaves, holding them close to their chest before setting them into a basket.

It nears nighttime, and everyone is preparing to leave, even the shop owner’s lover who seems to be solely faking smiles for the young magician’s sake. Asra grips their hand tightly as they light the lanterns, watching them go off into the deadness of the night sky; it appears to be a starless night.

They sit by the docks even as everyone leaves, sharing a now cold loaf of the pumpkin bread that the baker had brought along, and as they silently munch on it, Asra can simply watch as their gaze seems to drown in sorrow; he knows how they feel, that terrible ache of losing someone had been a constant part of his childhood, and even his adulthood, for he’d lost his parents so early on, the concept of loss had never been foreign to him; he comes to realize that if he could, he’d swallow their pain for them in a second.

Their hands are still intertwined when they let go, catching Asra off guard; their hand, trembling, cold, slowly climbs along his chest, fingers hooking at the neckline of his purple tunic, tentatively pulling.

“It’s getting smaller,” They remark, much to his misunderstanding.

“Your tunic,” They observe, “It’s getting smaller, you need some new clothes.” They observe, a small smile playing at their lips; though to him, it barely looks like a smile, for it is devoid of the usual gleam they carry in their smiles and laughter.

“Oh— That’s alright, that can wait.” He speaks, lips pulled into a small frown as he lifts his hand to rest on their back, “Let’s focus on you for now.” He ushers, rubbing small circles onto their shoulders.

“We should take your measurements,” They speak, and he simply lifts his hand to grip theirs, which now rests on his beating heart, ready to argue when—

“Please.” Their grip tightens onto the fabric, looking at him with an absent will to argue.

And perhaps that plea is enough to silence him because they sound so broken, so in need of a distraction, that he silently agrees, nodding as he lifts himself up and helps them onto their own feet, hands remaining intertwining as they walk through the crowd; some pay their condolences, some look at them with wary eyes and sad smiles and some just go on with walking home, just as they do.

They slip into the shop together, both protectively sealing the door with a few magic spells before they venture up the stairs; Asra hadn’t been here before, usually choosing to stay downstairs out of respect, for he’d already been hogging their living space more than he thought appropriate, spending more nights than he should sprawled down on their couch; so wandering up the stairs felt almost private, _intimate_ , as though he was venturing into the secrecy of _his_ magician; it was a quaint space with a bed off to the corner, blankets and pillows of all patterns thrown about, a closet at the opposite corner, with scarves and satchels of all colors spilling from the halfway open door, carpets lined the floor with colorful patterns and at the very end of the room seemed to be a bookshelf by a window, the windowsill carrying on it a few maps and scrolls; he watched as they wandered about, looking through the drawers of the closet until they returned with a measuring tape; quickly, he’d removed the scarf resting loosely on his shoulders, shedding away his satchel as well before sheepishly scratching his forearm.

“What do you need me to do?” He questioned, watching as their eyes traveled across his features, silently drinking him in; he felt almost scrutinized beneath their gaze, tilting his head with furrowed his eyebrows as he watched them, slowly lifting the measuring tape towards his shoulders.

“Just, stand still.” They’d spoke up, measuring the distance before writing them down.

And so he did.

Standing silent and still as they slowly measured each and every limb on his body, watching with curiosity as they drowned the events of the day away, choosing to focus on this small, mundane task; they looked serious, focused, urging his worry on more, if possible; for it seemed like they were actively trying to deny what happened.

“A—”

“Hush,” They breathed, dropping to their knees, wrapping the measuring tape around his waist and writing down the measurements yet again, urging his cheeks to flush as he could feel the lingering touch.

“I don’t need new clothes, really,” He spoke, “I’m just worried about you.”

“Aren’t you always?” They spoke playfully, though their tone seemed edged with force; as though they were forced to speak.

“This is different.” He insisted, reaching with his hand to help them up, eyes meeting as he gently pressed a hand to their cheek, “You’re hurting, I know.” He further continued, hoping to ease at the façade they were bravely putting on.

“What difference does it make? Life’s gotta continue,” They retorted, eyes cast downwards as they slowly allowed their shoulders to slump, the tape measure at their hands lying limply between their fingers.

“That’s true,” He agreed, “But you have every right to feel hurt, if only for a little, let it out.”

Their eyes met, and they looked at him with desperation tainting their features; his magician looked broken, eyes slowly filling up with unspoken remorse and eventually, they pressed into his arms, weeping soundly into his chest, his arms encasing them for what felt like hours, whispering nothings of support and adoration, watching as his love, his heart, broke between his fingers, and urging himself not to fall apart at the sight, further drowning in the thought that he could provide them with the comfort they needed, Faust seemingly felt the same, nudging herself onto their shoulders; they stayed like that, all three of them bundled in a tight hug until their tears ceased, and they pulled back slightly; he assumed they’d grown tired, today had been quite the day.

“Here, let me help you.” He offered, gently guiding them to the bed, a sense of pride washing over him as he watched them allow him to do, settling them into the bed.

“I’ll clean up downstairs, don’t worry,” He continued, only to note how their hands seemed to clutch at his, disallowing him departure, before muttering a singular demand.

“Stay.”

An indescribable rush flew across his body as he heard their request, cheeks tinted a light pink as he watched them, eyes beckoning him to their side and any hesitation left him as he slipped onto the bed, the cushiony feeling of the mattress welcoming him, just as their arms did, and he could only swallow, his heartbeat thumping like a dozen storms all at once within the confines of his mind, his arms were strongly curled around the magician’s frame, seemingly tiny as they curled up against him, for the first time openly seeking _him_ and his comfort; it was almost unreal.

“Goodnight, Asra.”

As they spoke such words, Asra could not help but think it a dream; and it was only when he awoke with them in his arms the next day that he confirmed it had been real. He ignored it would be the first night of many nights to come.

Slowly, steadily, things get better; they’re busying themselves to forget the tragedy and though at first Asra believes the coping mechanism to be a bit harsh, it quickly shows its fruits as they slip into Vesuvia’s very first clothing shop, where there are already premade clothing for purchase rather than having to wait for tailored clothing; it is said to be a Prakran custom that the count’s wife had brought along, and Asra can only watch as they force article after article of clothing at him to try, even if they know they can afford none of the luxuries this shop offers.

They laugh, that day, for the first time in weeks, they laugh as he emerges in bright yellow pants and a bright green vest to match, along with what appears to be a leopard printed hat, and though he should be upset, he cannot help but laugh too, their fits of giggles contagious and he’s missed the little eruptions of laughter they fell into.

That day, they eat grilled eel by the docks and talk about the sea of Persephia and how much they both wish to go, and for the first time in ages, the tragedy is not mentioned; at the end of the day, they both drop off to grab Asra’s new clothes from the tailor shop, and they fit him well, better than the old clothes he sported, they colors bring out his eyes and hair, they say, just as they tell him he looks dashing, and he accepts the compliment with a winning smile and a kiss to their knuckles, before they walk together back to the shop, have some tea and slip into the warmth of the bed, _together_.

Asra knows this is only further fueling his feelings for his magician, but care less he could not, for he could get used to this life, even if his magician would always view him as nothing but a friend.


	5. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for any mistakes ! please do comment and leave kudos if you appreciate this work ! constructive criticism is highly appreciated.

Asra is 21 years old when the plague hits his home.

It’s overwhelming how it seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere, and had fallen into the crests of the city he’d long labeled as home; it takes poor and rich, woman and man, child and senior, leaving behind but a twiddling corpse awaiting its merciful death, and Asra is scared.

Scared for himself, but mostly scared for them; for in the years they’ve stayed together, he could feel their hearts knotting together to depths beyond comprehension, their magic entangling them in a union that one could only describe in one word— soulmates. They were one, their magic rooted so deeply, intertwining just as their hands do as they slip into the covers each night; he often wonders if they know of the unspoken emotions lost in his eyes as he looks at them, if they choose to ignore it, or if those very eyes, which shone bright with the innocent glint of curiosity, knew nothing at all.

For the past year, Asra had been watching as the cases only grew with time, for even the count could not be saved from the plague that hit all; and so, he took it upon himself to leave on journeys, to look for new locations, for a new home, for both himself and the person who’d shared their shop with him, their home with him, the person he’d come to love more than he did himself; his heart.

Today was one of those days, for he’d been preparing himself the whole day to leave for yet another travel as the moon would grace the sky; he could feel their lingering gaze on him as they stood by the doorway, their gaze both expectant and saddened, “Do you really have to go?”

They asked the very same question each and every time; and it never failed to pull at his heart, to urge him to stay, not to leave them behind, but he knew, for better or for worse, that he was doing this for them, for the two of them, so they could put a life of pain and illness behind and start anew in a secluded corner of the universe, one where they would not be constantly fearing for their lives; “You know I must.”

His reply was always the same.

Night fell upon the two of them, and it was with a tight hug and a shy kiss to the cheek that they bid him farewell, watching his silhouette become but a blob before turning into a point along the horizon; as he reached the suburbs, he turned, promising himself, and them, that he would return to them with promises of a brighter future and a fearless life.

Asra was often a man of his word, and this time was no exception.

It was in Nopal where he’d acquired a quaint little cottage by the desert; it was not luxury, by any means, and much smaller than the shop in which they’d long lived together, but he knew it would be sufficient for the two of them, he knew them not to care for such aspects of life.

He’d dove straight into the shop, frantically climbing up the stairs and breath hitching as he caught sight of them, wrapped in his spare scarf and reading a book by the bed, their eyes brightened, matching his own, before they’d rushed to his side, arms tightening around his neck as they embraced him; holding him in their arms, and Asra could, at last, breathe again.

Their magic mingled and intertwined, creating a colorful halo around them as they basked in each other’s comfort and warmth, his arm was tight around their waist, hand buried in their hair, almost hoping to memorize the softness of the strands; they clutched at him with desperation, care, fear and adoration, and for a moment, Asra allowed himself to believe, if only for a second, that his feelings were reciprocated, that they adored him as much as he did them.

“I missed you so much!” They’d tearfully spoke, and his heart skipped a beat, his limbs relaxing as he offered them a tearful grin, expressing how much he’d missed them himself, with Faust quickly joining in and wrapping herself around their torso, watching as they giggled, praising the once small snake for her growth.

“ _Big!_ ”

He watches with a large smile as his familiar and his heart laughed and grinned with each other, their faces full of joyous innocence and his heart could only convulse in his chest; he’d vow to protect them, with whatever he could, whether it be his own skin and heart, he would not hesitate, he would not lose them.

“Come on! Let’s go get some tea! And you have to tell me where you went this time!” They urge, grinning, though there is a worrisome glint in their eyes that Asra doesn’t fail to catch, but he chooses to ignore it, if only for now.

“Of course, darling.” He’d muttered, lips lifting into a gentle smile as he followed along with them, watching as the salamander set the logs ablaze right as he stepped into the room, the pot seemingly already full of water waiting to be boiled.

“So, where did you go this time?”

“Nopal,” He’d began, watching them move about the room, retrieving the tea and the honey before slipping onto their stool with two mugs in hand, “I was looking for a place,” He paused yet again, watching as they lifted their gaze to meet his own.

“You’re moving?” Their voice was small, full of worry, almost frightened.

“No!” He’d quickly denied, watching as they visibly relaxed before pouring the water into the cups, and Asra knew not how to take on the subject; part of him believed they would listen to his advice, that they would join him in Nopal, but then again, the other part of him knew them; resilient, stubborn, lover of Vesuvia, they would not leave.

“I was thinking it could be for us, actually.” He corrected, slowly stirring the honey into his tea before lifting his eyes to see their reaction; their face seemed devoid of emotion, plain and expressionless, almost refusing to fathom his words.

“You want us to move to Nopal? And leave Vesuvia? What about the sh—” they were cut short as he looked around, speaking up; “We can open the shop in Nopal, we’ll take everything with us, it shouldn’t be too hard with a minimizing spell.”

“Asra— Are you hearing yourself?” He could only watch as the stood up, running a hand through their hair in frustration before setting their hand on their hips; quickly, he stood as well, joining their side, hand slipping to grip their own.

“It’s the only way, do you not see what’s happening in Vesuvia? Everyone is dying, the plague is spreading more and more and—” In similar fashion, they cut him off.

“So you’re suggesting we run? That seems cowardly to me,” They spoke stubbornly, holding their ground and furrowing their eyebrows.

“Cowardly or not, it can save our lives, do you want to die?” He’d harshly inquired, eyes narrowing as he watched theirs grow brighter with defiance.

“Not only our lives are on the line, Asra! Everyone’s lives are! You don’t see them running, do you? They’re fighting, and we should too! I even took up a job at the clinic to help with the resear—”

“You did _what?_ ” He could not believe what he was hearing; they’d been actively putting themselves in danger during his departure! And they expected him to not want to whisk them away somewhere safe?

“It’s for our people, our friends, Asra, they needs us now more than ever.” They’d argued, their hand tightening onto his own as they silently hoped he would understand; and he did, truly, he admired the courage and strength they portrayed, but this type of courage would get them killed, he couldn’t risk that happening.

“These people _, these people_ , are the very same people who have been worshipping that outlandish, scum of a count, they don’t _deserve_ our help!” He retorted, watching as they retracted their hand, almost as though they were disgusted with touching him.

“Asra, are you really hearing yourself right now? Are you serious?” They’d questioned yet again, and he firmly held his ground, just as they did theirs.

“Yes! This, this, this bravery and love of those who don’t give a fuck about you is only gonna get you killed!” Asra spoke, his voice growing louder and echoing into the kitchen.

“At least I don’t just pack my bags and leave whenever it suits me! At least I don’t leave those who care for me behind!” They shouted right back, clearly targeting him with carefully picked words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it means that you’ve been leaving me behind for like what, the past year? You never tell me where you go, either! You just leave! You don’t care if I get worried or anything—”

“I’ve been leaving for you! For us! To find us a place to stay so we can leave this slowly-dying city! Now I’m sorry if my efforts for trying to find us a better life aren’t appreciated by you!” The screaming only heightened the air in the room suddenly so tense it could be cut through, and Faust, frightened, rested at his shoulder, hiding beneath his shawl and silently hoping the fight would come to an end.

“Well I’m not leaving Vesuvia.” They defiantly spoke, gaze never breaking from his, but what had once been eyes full of love and care became full of disdain and hurt, looking at him with disgust and disrespect.

“And I’m not staying in Vesuvia.” Asra retorted, his own eyes mirroring their own with a defiance of a strong magician.

“Then leave.” They ordered, watching as he gripped his satchel and his hat, readying himself to leave.

“Fine.” And in that moment, he could feel it in his bones, their once intertwined magic breaking apart, their routes separating, their lives no longer parallel to each other but far, far away; as he stepped down the jaded steps, Asra could hear the faint sobs, as well as the resounding sound of his own heart breaking in his chest.

Four weeks pass, and he cannot anymore.

He cannot stay without them, breathe without them, his every movement, his every thought, is lingering with them, their touch, their smile, their voice; his heart, his heart lies so far away, and he cannot stay here anymore, he feels trapped within walls which are not home, he feels _homeless_ , as he had once before.

The people of Nopal are kind, the atmosphere is warm, there is no plague to worry about, but then again, his heart lies elsewhere, and so, one morning, he settles himself onto the beast and ushers it to carry him back to Vesuvia as fast as possible, his heart racing as the wind tangles his hair and flows by his side, Faust wraps comfortingly around his arm, squeezing in her own form of a hug, silently easing his worries and he can only hope that they will forgive him.

Even as he reaches the shop, and finds it stark empty, the thought never quite settles, even as he runs to the clinic, beckoning for the magician who’d come to be a volunteer, the thought never even enters his mind; “You’re asking for the doctor 069's assistant I presume?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” He hurries, watching as the young woman flips through the data book, only to shrug, “I suggest you question the doctor himself, there doesn’t seem to be any sort of information here.” She informs, and he quickly nods, pardoning himself as he rushes to where she told him he would find the young doctor; the palace.

The palace guards refuse him entry, but he manages to spill information from them; they’d sent them to the Lazaret to be quarantined, and his heart sinks, the mention of the island alone making shivers run down his spine as his heart beats wildly in his chest, uncontrollable, blasting in his ears, causing disarray in his mind as he found himself praying to the Gods, any god, that they were alright, that he could heal the illness away from them; these thoughts, these prayers, replay in his head the closer he nears the dark island, the smoke surrounding it causing his eyes to water as he wonders what they must be going through, what his heart, his love, must be feeling; so lonesome, so forgotten.

It was all his fault.

He walked straight into the first tower he’d seen, watching the beds filled with souls, some dead, some alive, some in between, and the guards who seem to be guiding them to a room blazing with heat; he asks the first guard he finds, who looks at him sheepishly, almost embarrassed.

“They were,” He pauses, and Asra can only feel his heart sink more.

“They got the plague, and they were brought up here, I’m guessing their body was either buried somewhere in the back, or like all these people,” He paused yet again, and Asra needed not to know the rest of that sentence.

“They were cremated.”

If his heart had ached before, he could now feel it halt to a _stop_.

The world, the sky, the fire in front of him, it all halted to a stop, the noises surrounding him, the screams of the patients surrounding him, they faded into the background as he fell into a daze, walking almost robotically to where the guard had told him he would find your body; beneath his feet was nothing but ash, the ash of souls who’d suffered the same fate as his heart, as his love; he fell to his knees, fingers falling onto the ground, digging, pulling, looking through the dark speckles that had once been human flesh and bone, his fingers hurt, the blood seeping from his fingernails as he dug the earth back and forth, rousing it in both blood and tears; he could not believe it, he could not fathom it, his fingers lifting to cloud-like hair as he pulled and pulled, staining his own locks crimson with hints of his own blood; he could feel it, his heart, burning in pain, burning as they did, their screams resounded in his head, their loneliness fogging his mind; they had died, all alone, burnt to the ground as though they weren’t human, unworthy of rights, they died, he’d left them to die alone, they were _gone_.

His heart, already broken, could only break more as he was called over to the edge of the beach, a voice so familiar, yet so different, urging him closer and closer and he followed, tear streaked features and blood-stained hair a mess as he followed the voice closer and closer, until he was facing a skull, with hollow eyes and branding a smile he could almost recognize, as macabre of a thought as it was; sniffling, he picked it up, his grip on it one of iron as he breathed out a promise, a vow, to himself, to them.

“I will bring you back, darling, _I will bring you back_.”

Asra always kept his word.


End file.
